McLaggen
by Project H
Summary: The world's most affordable and arousing detective is on the case when a student is brutally murdered at Hogwarts. It'll take all his skill to catch the culprit, but McLaggen always gets his man. And his woman, if you know what he means.
1. Part 1: A Study in McLaggen

_Several years after the events of Project H and the Half-Blood Prince (also known as Cormac McLaggen and the Full-Blood Prince, if you know what he means), former reserve keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team and self described ladies-man Cormac McLaggen has set up a business that he describes as "the cheapest detective service around, and we also repair bicycles". Inspired by the film-noire detective stories of the 1920's, McLaggen lives his life in black and white, and always has a waft of cigarette smoke following him around, as he uses his impeccable powers of deduction and seduction to solve the wizarding world's most complex and dangerous mysteries._

Part 1: A Study in McLaggen

It was the kind of night that made you wish you could throw away the detective game and retire to a life of yachting with your Brazilian lingerie model girlfriend and own active imagination. Just as I considered closing up for the night, and curling up to sleep on my office floor, in walked one of the finest dames I'd ever laid my eyes upon.

She wore a dress with a neckline that plunged lower than my current salary. It was less of a neckline, and more of a waistline. And so thin, it was practically a fishing line. But with clothes on it, so it was a clothes line. And with flesh beneath it, so it was more like some sort of butcher's hook. But I knew this clothes line butcher's hook of a woman was trouble.

'I was wondering if you could help me,' she uttered breathlessly. I could tell by the way she spoke that she was immediately smitten by the mess and odour of my office. As she stepped closer, I could see she was wearing not what I initially thought, but rather ordinary wizarding robes. Must have been a trick of the light, or some wishful thinking by her.

'I always help a damsel in distress,' I replied, my pants having already descended to the floor. No mean feat when you remain seated.

'I have an important task, and I saw your advertisement in the back of _Witches Gone Wild_ magazine.'

'Ah yes. The second-hand mattress is most certainly still for sale, though I must insist on...supervising, if you wish to try before you buy.'

'I meant the other advertisement, the one describing you as "the most affordable and arousing detective in the world."'

As she spoke, her tongue darted in and out of her mouth, like a cobra being charmed out of a particularly sensual basket. Being charmed by a handsome musician using a very long, seductive flute.

'Cormac McLaggen is the name, at your service. Cigarette?'

'No, Susan Bones.'

'I wouldn't mind jumping Susan's bones,' I rather cleverly thought to myself. So clever was it that I immediately repeated it aloud so that Susan too could appreciate my genius. She rather playfully continued her introduction without showing any sign that she had heard me.

'My name is Susan Bones, and I work at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There's been a murder, and we need someone who can catch the culprit without drawing too much attention to the crime. Do you think you're up to it?'

'I'll show you who's _up to it_, if you catch my drift,' I said, standing up in my pants-less glory so there was no chance of misunderstanding.

I could tell by the way she looked away in disgust that she was turned on, and would attempt to bed me at the first possible opportunity. But such a tryst would have to wait, as a murder had occurred and required immediate attention with no time for distractions.

I dropped to the ground, and curled up in a ball for my sleep.

_Tune in next time for espionage, deception, and did someone say 'Sexual tension'? I sure hope not, as asking questions out loud to your own computer is one of the first signs of insanity._


	2. Part 2: Dial M for McLaggen

Part 2: Dial M for McLaggen

I could tell by the way Susan had been ignoring me since we left my office that she had fallen madly in love with me. We travelled to Hogwarts by way of the Hogwarts Express, followed by a row across the Hogwarts lake. It was at this point I helpfully informed Susan that I wouldn't mind her grabbing hold of _my _oar, if she caught my drift.

Hogwarts was not the school I had left behind many years before. The halls were unfamiliar, and the school seemed remarkably smaller than I remember. Quite the mystery it was. A mystery that was solved by Susan yelling at me 'Why the hell have you broken into Hagrid's cottage?' Yet another problem solved by the sleuthing skills of Cormac McLaggen.

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet. At this time of night, I imagined most of the students were in their beds. Of course, in the days of Cormac McLaggen, very few of the female seventh years spent the night in their own bed.

I was later informed by a classmate that they stayed away from their beds for fear of finding me in there.

Myself and Susan, who was undoubtedly becoming more smitten by the minute, stopped in front of a portrait of the school's most successful ever student; Miss Hermione Granger. She had managed a record sixteen N.E.W.T.s, and had she played her cards right would have also received one B.H.M. That's 'Big Hunk of McLaggen' for the uninformed.

'That painting's not the only thing _well hung_ in this hallway, if you hear what I'm saying,' I spoke seductively to Susan.

I could tell by the way she immediately changed the subject that she was too turned on to even think straight. She moved quickly away from the painting and towards the hospital ward. As she moved, her hips moved from side to side, like a carry cage restraining a frantic and sultry cat. Presumably fighting for freedom, in order to get to the McLaggen of the feline world.

'MCLAGGEN!'

The voice pierced the night, like a loud noise piercing the time between dusk and dawn. It could only belong to one man.

'Good evening, Blaise. Say, don't you think it's a little late to BE A MASSIVE JERK?'

I was extremely satisfied with my zinger. Blaise Zabini had been a rival of mine ever since we simultaneously set up detective agencies, and his was mysteriously sabotaged late at night by an assailant who witnesses later described as 'incompetent', but had they gotten a better look would have described as 'the epitome of masculinity'.

'Odd seeing you here, McLaggen,' uttered Blaise, dorkishly. 'I thought we were trying to solve a crime, not get rejected repeatedly by seventh years. Though if we were, I can understand them seeking you out for your experience in the area.'

He chuckled unattractively to his assistant, Dougal Perkins. The two of them had quickly gained a reputation among the wizarding world for their sleuthing skills, and among other, handsomer people as smug twats.

'So what brings you here?' I inquired intelligently and thoughtfully. 'Surely a couple of big-shots like yourselves wouldn't worry about unimportant issues like the murder of children?'

'Generally not,' began Blaise, idiotically. 'But the crime front is oddly quiet these days, so we need to amuse ourselves with menial wrongdoings like murder and petty graffiti.'

'For the last time, any 'MACLAGIN' could have written that!' I replied heroically. I was sure putting Blaise in his place. His place being a mental institution. And not as a doctor, in case that wasn't clear.

'Well then McLaggen, I'd best be off.' The words spewed out of his hideous mouth like an ugly child coming out the end of a long waterslide, but instead of water it used mud, slime, and an unidentified but foul-smelling substance. He walked off, leaving me and my undeniable attractiveness alone in front of the Granger painting. Thank goodness it was only a painting, as the real Granger had found me irresistible back when we were school chums. I could tell by the way her portrait tried to hide itself behind chairs and various others objects in its frame, and appeared to be attempting to draw on a false moustache to make itself unrecognisable, that had it been possible this image would have leapt off its canvas and had its way with me. Though conveniently, its way was remarkable similar to my way.

Susan had entered the hospital wing, and was eagerly anticipating my lustful arrival.

'Will you hurry up and come inside here?'

I'd been waiting to hear her say that ever since we first met.

_Will Cormac be able to solve the crime? Will Susan be able to put up with him? Why is the author asking you questions? Is he trying to intrigue you, or does he actually still have no idea where he plans to go from here? Find out next time...maybe._


	3. Part 3: Murder on the McLaggen Express

Part 3: Murder on the McLaggen Express

Much like the blood stream of the most popular girl in high school, hospitals were ridden with viruses and disease. To avoid infection, I'd have to be like Hagrid when he kisses that giant teacher from the French school, and stay on my toes.

As myself and my infatuated comrade, Susan, made our way between the beds, we were met halfway by the matron Madam Pomfrey. She was a harsh woman, and I knew that in a tense time like this it was important to be careful with our words. It seemed best to open with a compliment.

'Pomfrey, you don't look a day over 180,' I said, with the unmistakable youthful charm required in such a situation.

'I'm 74!' she yelled unnecessarily.

'This is Cormac McLaggen,' said Susan, interrupting the rapport I was developing with Pomfrey. 'He's here to help with the investigation.'

'McLaggen? You went out and got Cormac McLaggen?' asked Pomfrey. 'That useless, block-headed Gryffindor who once put his own quidditch teammate in the infirmary?'

Clearly my reputation preceded me.

'We needed someone who could do things quietly. Someone not involved with the Ministry - we know how messy that can get - and not associated with those gung-ho vigilante organisations that seem to have sprung up all over the place after the fall of You-Know Who. Pomfrey, the students would be thrown into hysterics if they knew someone had been murdered within the school.'

From Susan's explanation, or at least what I heard of it when I wasn't mentally undressing her, things were very serious. Although I probably could have picked that up when she first informed me there had been a murder.

We were taken through the oddly empty hospital wing to an area with curtains drawn all around. Pulling back the curtains, which I did quickly before Pomfrey could tell me otherwise, revealed a boy lying unconscious on the floor with a broomstick next to his head.

'Bludgeoned,' explained Pomfrey. 'Beaten in the head with the broomstick until he was dead. I've never seen anything like it. Students get into duels all the time, but never as vicious an attack as this.'

'I'm not willing to rule out suicide,' I said, displaying the skills of lateral thinking that were unmatched within the field of detective work and bicycle repair.

I could tell by the way Pomfrey slapped her forehead with her palm and stared at Susan in annoyance that she was impressed with my unorthodox, and some would say unrecommended, approach to crime solving.

I took out some parchment and a quill and starting making notes. In this case, notes consisted of a tasteful drawing of the corpse, with a handsome detective closely analysing. I would later add in some fawning female admirers, to ensure my sketch was accurate.

'So, where do you want to begin?' I asked Susan.

'Well, it's a little late, so maybe we should start our investigation in the morning,' replied Ms Bones, finally achieving her lifetime goal of being able to spend the night with me.

'Good idea,' replied Pomfrey. 'Help yourself to a couple of spare hospital beds. I'm sorry I can't offer you something a little nicer.'

'Not at all,' said Susan. 'It sure beats sleeping on a hardwood floor.'

'Well whether we're on the floor or sharing a bed together, you'll be sleeping on some _hard wood_ regardless, if you follow.'

I could tell by the way her foot hit me harshly between the legs, that she had been thinking the exact same thing herself. And that physical contact with my pants region was undoubtedly something she had been dreaming of doing for quite some time, no matter how fleeting it was.

But romance would have to wait. There was murder afoot, and only I could catch the crim. It was late, Susan needed sleep, and I needed to lie here curled up on the floor for a few more minutes until I regained the ability to walk. Neither of us said it, but both myself and Susan knew this investigation had begun even better than either of us could have ever hoped.

_Little do McLaggen and Bones know that they are sinking deeper into a puddle of trouble, where the only way out will be to doggy-paddle through the lies and sabotage in order to reach an island of safety and clarity, perhaps by hitching a ride with a dolphin of transparency, but being wary of traitorous sharks and the occasional confusing harpoon. And if you think this analogy has gotten a little out of control, than it means you've read it correctly._


	4. Part 4: The Secret of the Old McLaggen

Part 4: The Secret of the Old McLaggen

The next morning, Pomfrey quickly explained to us the circumstances under which the student had found himself in the hospital wing. She was perhaps hoping to separate herself from the investigation as rapidly as possible; no doubt her natural female hormones were going wild simply by being in my presence.

The boy's name was Dennis Creevey, and was the current seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team. After a particularly violent match with Slytherin, half of the players involved had ended up in the hospital wing for various injuries, wounds, or just because they were lonely now that all their friends were together in this room. It was like a camp out, but with fractured skulls in place of activities, and pained moaning in place of sing-a-longs.

'I had to clear out all the beds once I found him,' Pomfrey informed us. 'Not that I minded, we've been overcrowded in here for weeks. Before the incident, visitation up here was pretty much restricted to teachers and students bringing homework assignments. And as for this morning, we can hardly tend to cuts and bruises while a boy lies bleeding on the floor.'

'Of course not,' I said in my most sincere of voices. 'And may I just add I wouldn't mind lying bleeding on the floor with Susan, if you know what I mean.'

'Bleeding?' Asked a visibly aroused Susan.

'I can be a little rough. And clumsy. And I get nose-bleeds a lot.'

I could tell by the way Pomfrey lead Susan away to explain the situation to her in private away from me, that they were working out the logistics of the sexy threesome they were both fantasising about. Not me though; I'm not into old chicks. And I'm a man who stands by his convictions. I live my life according to two very strict rules: One, I never speak in the third person, and two, Cormac McLaggen is never a hypocrite.

The one student who was still taking up residence in a hospital bed, since it wouldn't make a difference either way, was the temporarily blind and deaf Aspertame Flack. Little Aspertame was the Gryffindor keeper, and was struck by lightning midway through the game. Sure, there were certain keepers of the past who wouldn't let something like lightning stop them from dominating the game, but those keepers shall remain nameless out of respect for Mr Flack. But for the record, those keepers are me, Cormac McLaggen.

To let him know I was there, I slapped his face. He spluttered awake, assuming blind people can sleep, and started flailing his arms around. To let him know where I was, and that I was a friend, I slapped his face. I think he was appreciative of that. Oh sure, doctors may well tell Flack that his condition will make communication difficult, but doctors also say that boys can't get periods. And what do you know, happy thirteenth birthday McLaggen.

I wanted to ask him if he knew anything about the murder, so I spoke in a raised voice and used hand gestures to emphasize my words. He didn't respond. I was certain that the culprit had gotten to young Mr Flack before myself, forcing him into silence. In all likelihood a threat had been made against his family, or he had been told he could only eat hospital food for the next month. Either way, the boy wasn't talking.

I thanked Aspertame with a slap to the face before moving on with my investigation. Aspertame looked an unlikely culprit, but the other quidditch players were certainly not off the hook.

Bones rushed over at the pace at which women tended to move towards me.

'Pomfrey gave me a list of the students who were staying in the hospital wing the night Creevey was found dead. I say we go and question them right now, before any of them have a chance to organise a defence or alibi.'

The chance of one of them organising a defence or apple-pie was concerning, so I immediately sprung into action.

'Great idea Bones, let's get some breakfast.'

_Has McLaggen bitten off more than he can chew? Is Susan finding his theories a little difficult to swallow? Should I be writing these when I'm so hungry? The answer to that last question is no, but the answers to the others will have to wait until our next instalment, where McLaggen learns the true meaning of the term 'fact-checking'._


	5. Part 5: McLaggen She Wrote

Part 5: McLaggen She Wrote

It was 7.00am, and my knowledge of teenagers suggested it would be at least five hours before any students rose from their beds. Myself and Bones entered the Great Hall, in hope of finding food, or even some clues if we accidently stumbled upon them. There were a few weary souls at the tables already. So heavy were the eyelids of the females in attendance that they weren't clearly able to make out that McLaggen had just entered their midst, or else there would have been an avalanche of lustful ladies surging through the hall towards me.

'McLaggen! I think that's one of the players,' Bones reliably informed me, pointing to the Slytherin table. A young man, with his arm in a sling, was shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth. Quite why he was using a shovel as an eating utensil was beyond me.

On closer inspection it's a spoon.

'Alright Bones, if we want to nab this guy we're going to have to have to try some unusual tactics. How about good cop/bad cop?'

'OK then. Which do you want to be?' she asked, her eyes suggesting a role-play with yours truly was exactly what she had been hoping for.

'I'll play the good cop. When he sees that I'm just one of the guys, he'll most certainly help us in a murder investigation. That's what being a teen boy is all about.'

'So I'll be the bad cop, then.'

'And a truly bad cop would be an incompetent cop. Maybe spill some water down your front or something, and keep the wet top on for the remainder of the investigation.'

'I hardly think that will help,' responded Bones, the moisture emanating from her doing more than even an entire reservoir of water could accomplish. She made her way towards the quidditch player, and I strolled along behind her.

'Excuse me,' she said, addressing the player and interrupting a mouthful of egg. 'Are you Fitchman Lament?'

'Yes.'

'Well we have some questions for you,' Bones said, in a slightly aggressive manner.

'The first of which will be "what sort of a name is Fitchman?"' I helpfully added.

'Look!' Bones was now shouting. 'We don't have time to mess around. What do you know about Dennis Creevey?'

'Nothing,' Fitchman unhelpfully added. 'He plays quidditch for Gryffindor. That's all I know. We totally caned his side yesterday.'

'You don't know why he ended up in the hospital wing?' asked Bones. 'And you'd better give us a serious answer, or else there'll be trouble.'

'Yeah!' I yelled, as I grabbed his plate of food and threw it against the wall. 'That'll be your face in a minute!'

Bones pulled me aside.

'What the hell was that? You're meant to be the good cop.'

'And a good cop always sticks by his partner. I was merely supporting you, even when you started to lose your cool.'

'No no, you're meant to be nice to him. I'm mean and you're nice.'

To state the obvious.

'Alright Bones, you lead and I'll follow.'

We approached Fitchman again, who was picking at a piece of toast that had landed close to his seat.

'Alright Fitchman,' began Bones. 'I'm going to ask you one more time, and unless I get some answers there will be serious consequences.'

'Piss off, you jerk!' I shouted at Bones as I pushed her to the ground. 'Don't worry Fitchman, old friend, I'm here to protect you. Want me to use _Crucio_ on her?'

'What?' asked the now somewhat frightened looking Fitchman. The fear caused either by concern for Bones, or more likely because he wasn't used to dealing with folks as friendly and handsome as myself and wasn't quite sure how to handle it. 'No, don't do that! I don't know a thing. I was let out of the hospital last night. It was just Creevey, Flack and Blackwell still in there when I left.'

'Thanks buddy. You've been great help.' I high-fived Fitchman to show my appreciation, but ended up hitting his elbow. His cry of pain and immediate clasping of the arm behind the sling told me he was grateful to have a friend like me, and had he been an attractive girl would have hoped to be a friend with benefits.

I wandered over to Bones, who was looking annoyed for reasons known only to herself. Probably lady-problems. Lady-problems of course being the term for what all women experience after spending time with me, when they realise that no other man they ever meet could ever be as manly and rugged.

'What the bloody hell was that about?' she asked, in her most blatant display of flirting yet.

'We need to find Blackwell. He was still in the hospital wing when Fitchman left.'

'Blackwell! Excellent,' cheered Bones, in a moment of heightened sexual excitement. 'And it's a she. She's a Slytherin chaser.'

'A female on a quidditch team? Ha! Well, I guess it makes it easier for them to deliver sandwiches to the guys if they have a broom.'

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that. We'll need to go to the dank, dark Slytherin dungeon to talk to Blackwell.'

'And after that, I might just _slither in_ to your dank and dark dungeon, if you get what I'm saying.'

I could tell by the amount of orange juice poured over my head, that Bones was trying to cool herself off in response to my incredible hotness, but was so disorientated she missed her own head completely. But I couldn't let a McLaggen witticism like that go unrewarded, so I immediately high-fived Fitchman.

He thanked me the only way he knew how; by falling on the floor and screaming.

_Guests of the series choose to stay...away from McLaggen, as he keeps trying to touch them._


	6. Part 6: Anatomy of a McLaggen

Part 6: Anatomy of a McLaggen

Bones lead me down into the dungeons towards the Slytherin common room. Many a lady has tried to get me alone in a dark and quiet corridor, and I had no doubt Bones knew just how lucky she was. We stopped outside a blank slate of wall.

'Basilisk' uttered Bones.

'That's what they call me,' I replied, as I moved towards her with a level of sophistication and allure that could only be described as McLaggen-like. Sadly for Ms Bones, I was interrupted by the wall splitting open and revealing the Slytherin common room.

'Basilisk is the password to the common room,' explained Bones, trying to cover for making such a fool of herself a moment ago when she succumbed to her highly-persuasive venereal suggestions.

'I'm not even sure what a Basilisk is,' I intelligently replied.

'It's the giant snake that lived in the Chamber of Secrets.'

'I've got a giant snake that wouldn't mind visiting _your_ Chamber of Secrets, if you catch my drift'

I could tell by the way she shoved me through the hole in the wall that she wanted to finish up here as quickly as possible so we could retire to a private room. I sauntered into the room like a saucy train pulling up to a station full of passengers eager to get on.

Considering the time of morning, and the fact they didn't know they'd be graced by McLaggen, it was no surprise that there were few students around. Those that were there looked at me with the bloodshot eyes and yawning mouths of admiration that often greeted me when around the young folk.

'Blackwell's not down here, so she must still be in bed,' said Bones. 'You wait here while I go and get her from the girl's dormitory.'

'Smart move Bones. If I were to go up to the girl's dormitory it would unleash some sort of fervour of sexual hysteria that would spread throughout the school like a sensual grassfire through an adolescent field of corn.'

Bones moved upstairs while I waited in the common room. These Slytherins sure like things green and damp-looking. If it got any more cosy, it could double as a morgue.

Bones returned with Blackwell in tow, who was so enamoured with me she refused to even look me in the eye or crotch. She appeared to be a seventh year, which made me feel considerably better about the mental image that had just sprung into my head.

'Sorry to bother you Ms Blackwell,' I said, as my velvet voice caressed her ears in such a way that caused her nose to wrinkle and look at me in faux-annoyance. 'But we wanted to know if you murdered Dennis Creevey. It's cool if you have, we just need to fill out some forms.'

'I don't know anything,' came her voice, out of a mouth that she was hoping would soon become well acquainted with my own.

'I understand it's difficult, but you must do your absolute best not to fall madly in love with me,' I said, hoping to place myself perhaps in more of a father-figure role. Well, step-father-whom-you-occasionally-give-a-second-glance-to role.

Blackwell gave the internationally recognised sign of understanding and thanks; an eye-roll.

'We just need you to tell us everything you saw while in the hospital wing,' added Bones quite unnecessarily.

'Nothing. Creevey was fine when I left. It was just him and Flack in there. I considered finishing Flack off for the way he was behaving out on the quidditch pitch earlier, but with Creevey there I didn't bother.'

'And what exactly did Flack do on the quidditch pitch?' asked Bones.

'Blocked the hoops.'

'Isn't that his job?'

'What am I, the careers counsellor?'

'Do you think careers counsellors ever tell kids they should become careers counsellors?' I asked, with the kind of intelligence and wisdom that Blackwell frequently sought from me as her step-father figure.

'Tell me this,' began Bones, completely changing the subject just as I was making serious progress with a witness. 'What do you know about Fitchman Lament?'

'Excellent beater. Sent Wesley off with a concussion and pneumonia midway through the match. That takes some serious talent.'

There was something that didn't seem quite right about Blackwell. It could have been the way she moved uncomfortably as she spoke, or the way her fellow Slytherins were staring menacingly at me and clutching their wands, or the way Bones was dragging me out of the common room as spells flew at our heads. We fell in a heap back out in the dungeons.

'Well that went well,' I said, in an intentionally inaccurate recollection of events for humourous effect.

'I can't believe students would openly attack a school administrator,' said a shocked Bones.

'I can't believe students would openly attack someone trying to have one of them sent to Azkaban for a lifetime of imprisonment,' replied the school's most popular step-father.

'It's not really so bad there anymore,' said Bones. 'With the dementors gone, it's pretty much just wizard security and nifflers. So unless you get hit with stupefy or fall in a hole, escape isn't too difficult.'

'I can think of a hole of _yours_ I wouldn't mind falling into,' I uttered, making clear that it was time to put all these charades aside and finally admit to ourselves the insatiable urges within.

I could tell by the way I had to duck a curse aimed at my head, that Bones was into the kinky stuff.

_On the next McLaggen:  
><em>'_I'm having your baby, McLaggen!'  
><em>'_The bomb goes off in 90 seconds!'  
><em>'_Everyone I loved is dead!'  
><em>'_That's right, I'm your evil twin.'  
><em>'_That's not a patronus, and that's certainly not my wand.'  
><em>_And various other fun clichés._


	7. Part 7: The Maltese McLaggen

Part 7: The Maltese McLaggen

Things weren't quite going to plan. The witnesses were belligerent, Creevey was still dead, no new evidence had surfaced, and Bones was still fully clothed.

We trudged through the dungeon, with the general sense of disappointed and arousal that comes with conversing with teen girls. It was at this point that God's most beautiful creation collided with a sight so ugly you would need sunglasses on to be blinded by it (not wearing sunglasses would kill you).

'Oh, hello Blaise,' I said, masking my loathing by spitting at his feet at the immediate conclusion of my greeting.

'Ah, Mr McLaggen. How's the murder investigation going?' he asked, like the git he is. His lips opened and closed like someone trying to force the hatch closed on a sewage pipe, but there's just so much sewage it simply can't be contained.

'Fantastically!' I yelled suddenly, without the slightest hint that I was intimidated. 'We've already caught three burglars and an arsonist.'

'Excellent,' said a jerk, who shall remain nameless (Blaise). 'Let us know if you catch the actual person you're after. Although in your case, McLaggen, I imagine the person you're after is someone who is blind and has low standards.'

Blaise and Dougal laughed in such a way that a nearby crippled orphan would have immediately contracted cancer and been hit by a bus had there been one present. Fortunately there wasn't, as the nearest orphan was merely illiterate and itchy. Though on closer inspection it was just a house plant.

'Oh yeah,' I began slowly, to allow everyone to brace for the incredibly witty response. 'So is your mother!'

I immediately searched for a high-five. It's times like these I wish my good friend Fitchman was here.

'Listen Cormac. We know you're in over your head here. Why not just go home before anyone even knows you tried to do a big boy job?'

'I like to leave the big boy jobs to _your mother_.'

'Well then, on that mature note, I think I'll be getting back to work,' said Blaise, his words emitting from a face that should be used on a billboard promoting miscarriage.

'Alright then, Zabini. But I have a feeling that after all is said and done, you'll be going down in a _Blaise_ of glory.'

I was met with confused stares from all, almost certainly because their puny brains were unable to comprehend my incredible play on words.

'So...I'll go out in glory?' asked Blaise, every word drenched in inadequacy. 'Works for me. Let's go Dougal'

And with that, Blaise and Dougal made their way towards the Slytherin common room, not unlike putrid garbage making its way along a conveyor belt towards an even larger pile of putrid garbage.

'Don't worry about Blaise. He's just a jerk,' said Bones.

'I wouldn't mind...being a jerk. If you know what I mean,' I replied, showing no signs of distraction despite the unpleasant encounter.

'Um, Cormac...are you crying?'

'What? No!' I shot back at her, wiping my eyes for no apparent reason. 'It's just liquid bullets of testosterone being shot out my eyes.'

'You know what, Cormac? I'm starting to get a little fed up with you.' Bones was presumably suffering from sexual exhaustion. 'I'm starting to wonder whether you've got big enough balls to handle a case like this. Figuratively.'

'Woah! No! You do not insult my skills! You are insulting the credibility and dignity of the world's cheapest detective! And you say I don't have big enough figurative balls to handle this case? I've got the biggest figurative balls around. I've gone up three figurative underpants sizes since we walked through the Hogwarts school gates. My figurative doctor has suggested I switch to figurative boxer shorts if I ever want to have figurative kids. So before you go criticizing me, or my techniques, realize that solving a murder is a lot more complicated than just holding your wand in the air and shouting "Accio Evidence."'

It was at this moment that a book flew straight into my hand, and while I wasn't certain, I think it somehow helped me to make my point.

'A book?' quizzed Bones. Poor dear couldn't even recognise basic objects. I flipped it open and checked the inside cover. Just as I thought, someone had drawn genitals there. Also, it was a library book. From the restricted section no less.

'You know what this means, Bones?'

'That we need to go straight up to the library.'

'I wouldn't mind going straight up into _your_ library, if you follow me.'

'Now there's the McLaggen I know and love.'

I could tell by her sudden animosity towards me, that now was not the time to indulge our overwhelming urges. I gave her a quick pinch on the bum, and we hurried to the library.

_Wow, something actually happened in that chapter. I might have to start reading them now._


	8. Part 8: McLaggen for the Prosecution

Part 8: McLaggen for the Prosecution

I sultrily swaggered into the Hogwarts library and walked up to a young Hufflepuff boy.

'Library lady, I need you to tell me who borrowed this book.'

A voice came from the other side of the room.

'I'm over here!'

'Excuse me a moment library lady, I'm needed elsewhere,' I gave the young boy a quick high-five to the face and moved towards the aforementioned voice. 'Do you know who borrowed this book? I can't tell you why I need to know, but it involves the brutal murder of a student.'

The woman, who for simplicity sake I will refer to as the library lady, took the book and ran her fingers over it. What she wouldn't give to replace that book with McLaggen.

'This is from the restricted section. No students have borrowed from the restricted section in weeks. A member of staff must have borrowed it.'

Bones, who I had left in my wake as I sped up the stairs, now caught up with me.

'Ah Bones, certainly not the first time I've left you short of breath.'

'Shut up. Who borrowed the book?' she asked, in such a way that I knew she had now been restored to her regular state of being madly in love with me.

'A staff member, apparently.'

'Know which one?'

'There's no real way to know, I'm afraid,' interjected the library lady, clearly jealous of the raw sexual chemistry being developed between myself and Bones. 'Teachers don't need to check books out, they can just take them as they please.'

'So the one piece of evidence we have,' I began, Bones and library lady hanging off my every word, 'Is a book that we have no idea how it is involved in the crime, and could have been used by anyone. So we've narrowed the suspects down to – Everyone.'

'You're right,' said Bones. 'We're no closer.'

'What? Didn't you hear what I said? We've just narrowed it down. It involves a physical book, so it can't have been a ghost. This is the breakthrough we've been waiting for!'

'But Creevey was hit with a broom, we already knew it couldn't have been a ghost.'

'We _thought_ it wasn't a ghost, and now we know for sure! This means I can release all those ghosts I cursed on my way up here. Now we've narrowed it down to 1000 students and several dozen teachers.'

'Well then let's just take a moment to think about what the book could mean.' Bones clearly had no idea how the crime-solving process worked, and was looking for us to spend some serious time "exchanging information" if she knows what I mean.

'What, you mean like the fact the book was able to fly into my hands from within the Slytherin dungeons?' I quizzed. 'The same dungeons that require you to go through several large iron doors to get to, meaning that if a book was able to be summoned from there it would have to be located in the dungeons themselves meaning that the one key piece of evidence we have directly links a Slytherin to the crime. Wait...what?'

'Cormac! Of course!' yelled Bones. She was displaying the type of enthusiasm that most people do whenever I walk into a room. 'But we still don't know what the book means.'

'So we have a book in our possession that could only have been taken out by a teacher, and was located in the Slytherin dungeons,' I said, summarising for Bones who I have now established is slow. Which is fine by me – I quite like slow girls. For some reason it seems to take them longer to run away from me than it does the smart ones, no doubt because it takes them longer to realise I'm too good for them, and that it seems only fair they back off so as to let me meet cuter girls.

'So what now?' asked Bones.

'Not sure. But I think we'd better head back to the Slytherin dungeons,' I answered, providing the kind of sure-minded decisiveness that the situation called for.

'Alright then, let's start heading down the long corridors.'

'I wouldn't mind heading down your...you set me up for that one, didn't you?'

'Thought you deserved a reward. Let's get going.'

'WAIT!'

'Oh darn,' I thought aloud. 'That Huffleboy boy has followed me, presumably requiring advice on the opposite sex. The key to a women's heart is simple: Be McLaggen.'

I turned around and was instead met by a horrifying ghoul, that Bones informed me I should refer to as the library lady.

'I found something,' spoke the ghoulish library lady. 'The permission slip. That book wasn't taken out by a teacher, it was borrowed by Ms Cecelia Blackwell, a Slytherin student.'

I caught the eye of Bones. And then caught the other. We were now making eye-contact. Eye-contact with both eyes. Someone should say something. And that someone was Bones.

'Cormac, are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

'Of course, but try to fight those intensely erotic thoughts, Bones. For now, there's a disgusting dungeon with our names on it.'

As we made our way to the staircase, we passed a gent in Gryffindor robes. A gent I immediately developed an intense suspicion of. Bones seemed to recognise him.

'Derrig? Mortimer Derrig?'

'Yes, Ms Bones. Just going to check on a young teammate of mine.' He held up a bouquet of flowers.

'Of course, Derrig. Tell me, do you know how Creevey is?' asked Bones.

'Oh last I saw of him he was doing fine. I'm sure he's just about ready to join us out on the pitch for practice.' He smiles and continued on upstairs.

'Gryffindor quidditch captain Mortimer Derrig,' Bones explained. 'Charming young man.'

'And possibly involved in murder,' I added.

'What? Why would he kill his own teammate?'

'No idea. But why would he go _upstairs_ to an infirmary on the _first floor_.'

Bones thought about this for a minute, and then a wave of realisation washed over her face.

'Oh McLaggen, I could kiss you!'

Well now, there was no reason for such a frigid attitude. But the sudden reveal of Derrig acting suspicious was nothing new – I have a real knack for pointing out the possible criminality of men who had suddenly attracted the attention of my female cohorts. Funny that I didn't even have to make it up this time.

'Care to escort me to the dungeons?' I asked.

'Absolutely,' she replied, and held out her arm for me to take.

'You know Bones, I can think of several body parts I'd much rather take hold of, if you catch my drift.'

I could tell by the way she sighed and turned away, that that was exactly what she'd been hoping to hear.

'_McLaggen' is typed in front of a live studio audience. They hate having to sit and stare at a guy on a laptop, occasionally giggling at himself._


	9. Part 9: Tinker, Tailor, McLaggen, Spy

Part 9: Tinker, Tailor, McLaggen, Spy

We stood outside the Slytherin common room, uncertain of how best to approach the violent and lustful students.

'Do you want to go in first, or should I?' asked Bones.

'I get asked that a lot,' replied a man who spoke from great worldly experience. 'One important thing though, Bones – This time, I'm the bad cop.'

And with that I blasted through the wall and into the common room. I shot curses off in all directions; destroying furniture and sending students cowering.

'WHERE'S BLACKWELL?' I asked, not forgetting my manners.

Several heads turned towards a rather large armchair across the room. Blackwell's head popped up from behind it, like a rabbit popping its head out of a hole in order to see whether the dashing hunter has any rounds left. And this particular hunter always has a full barrel.

'IS THIS YOUR BOOK?' I kindly passed the book to Blackwell, who ducked out of the way as it collided with the brickwork behind her. She picked it up and looked at the cover.

'N-n-no. I mean, yes, I borrowed it.'

'AND WHY WAS IT IN THE DUNGEONS OUTSIDE THE COMMON ROOM?' I asked, firing curses at a group of first-years to assure them that should a bad person ever try to attack them, step-daddy Cormac would be more than capable of protecting them.

'I-I-I don't know. I left it in the common room and then it just disappeared.'

'THAT'S AN IRRESPOSIBLE WAY FOR A STUDENT TO TREAT A BOOK!' It was that kind of advice that the young folk often sought from me. Something else they sought from me was reassurance that what they were doing was right, and I thanked Blackwell for her honestly by sending one of her fellow students soaring into a wall. 'SO YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT GOT THERE?'

'No. I was doing homework late last night, trying to catch up on work. I fell asleep at the table, and when I woke up just before, it wasn't there.'

'WHICH TABLE?'

'The one that you threw at my head.'

'EXCELLENT! THANK YOU! STAY IN SCHOOL, KIDS!'

I returned through the hole in the wall to Bones. Her eyes were wide with adoration, and her mouth was hanging open as she tried to work out how best to word her gratitude.

'What the hell was that?' she asked.

'THAT WAS GETTING RESULTS!' I helpfully replied.

'You can stop yelling now.'

'GREAT! We now know that the book was stolen from Blackwell late last night. I call this a clue.'

'I call it mistreatment of the students,' said Bones, who knew that every moment she didn't spend in my arms was mistreatment of her heart.

'Well while you're over there mounted on your high horse, I'm over here narrowing down the list of suspects. And if you wouldn't mind getting down off the high horse, I can think of something far more fun for you to mount, if you know what I'm saying.'

I could tell by the lengthy silence in which she looked at me through disappointed eyes, that she was eyeing up just how to complete the physical challenge I had set for her. It would certainly be easier without all those weighty clothes.

'Cormac...' she began, leaving a short pause to catch the breath that was lost simply by uttering the aphrodisiac that is my name. 'Why is it that you must treat every woman you encounter like a piece of meat?'

'I don't treat them like a piece of meat – I don't want to sleep with meat. When I meet women, I treat them like women. Like women I want to sleep with.'

'You're a real charmer.'

'They don't call me Cormac "Class and Sophistication" McLaggen for nothing.'

'Who on earth calls you that?'

'Staff at the hotel I book into under that name.'

'If I may change the topic of discussion, what do we do now? The students will be heading down to breakfast soon, and it'll be a lot harder to keep things hidden from them when they see two detective teams running around.'

'Correction, Bones; one detective team and one team that are constantly disproving the theory of intelligent design.'

'Say what you will about Blaise,' said Bones, granting me permission to do something I'd been doing all along, 'But he gets results. He wouldn't keep being hired if he didn't.'

'I thought that's why you hired _me_.'

'We hired you because you're cheap.'

'The _cheapest_,' I said with the sort of pride a mother shows at a musical recital, when she realises her kid isn't as bad as the 7 year old who attempted the bagpipes.

But now we were left with a conundrum. We had a book in our possession that was stolen from a student, and we knew the book related to the crime in some way. The question was: How? And what sort of a nerd steals a book? It would take all my cunning and attractiveness to solve this one.

Just as myself and Bones stepped through the doors that lead us out from the dungeons, we caught sight of my best friend Fitchman leaving the Great Hall. He walked up a flight of stairs, met with Derrig, and the two of them walked off together.

'What's Derrig doing with Fitchman?' asked Bones.

'Cheating on his best friend, that's what. Let's chase them!'

'Or maybe follow them quietly to see what they're up to.'

'Whatever. It's your funeral.'

'The way this investigation is going, it could well be.'

'That's the spirit,' I assured Bones, 'I knew from the first time I laid eyes on you that you were the kind of girl who'd happily stalk a couple of underage wizards. Onward!'

_Spoiler alert: They all die at the end._


	10. Part 10: Mysterious Affair at McLaggen

Part 10: The Mysterious Affair at McLaggen

This was great. Myself and Bones were silently following two suspects up through the castle, which served the additional purpose of distracting Bones from my chiselled jaw, luscious hair and alluring thumbs.

'We're like a detective team,' I said to Bones, beautifully capturing the essence of our situation. The words left my mouth and entered her ears like a beautiful rabbit leaving its hole, then deciding it is too sunny and hops to another hole nearby.

'So what were we before?' quizzed Bones, possibly unable to hear me due to her ears being full of bunnies.

'Friends with benefits.'

'What exactly was the benefit?'

'Getting to be near McLaggen.'

'And what was the benefit for you?'

'Getting to _be_ McLaggen.'

Up and up we went, through corridors and along passageways. It was as if Fitchman and Derrig were afraid of being followed by two investigators and took the least direct route. But this was of course impossible, as no one could be afraid of being followed by me. They would look forward to it.

We ended up at the top of the west tower, in the owlery. I informed Bones that the west tower was in fact on the second biggest thing to be erected on the Hogwarts grounds, if she knew what I meant. She agreed, but said it was because the astronomy tower is taller. Oh that tease.

Derrig and Fitchman spoke in low voices, not audible to my remarkably handsome ears. Their words were like a beautiful rabbit leaving its hole, then deciding it is too sunny and hopping around randomly until nightfall.

'Should we go closer?' asked Bones.

'Of course not. There are smarter ways of doing things.'

I flicked my wand and sent a stick flying through the air. The owls became frightened and started hooting and flying around, forcing Derrig to raise his voice.

'...but if they start asking questions again we have to think about what to tell them.'

Fitchman needed to yell too.

'And if we're not careful, some serious trouble will be going down.'

'Hey Bones, I can think of something else that will be going down, if you know what I mean.'

I could tell by the way that everyone immediately looked at me, that our cover had been blown. It was unclear what exactly had caused it, though presumably they had cast some sort of handsome-detecting charm around themselves in case I came after them. Smart kids.

'Sorry boys, but we had to come up and check on you,' began Bones. 'Maybe you know why we're here.'

'Ms Bones, please understand that we'll do anything we can to help,' said Derrig, displaying his bastard-ery. 'We're just a little concerned about how things are being handled. From the rather unorthodox methods of yours that Fitchman was telling me about, to Mr Zabini's rather confusing approaches to me, we're not exactly confident that our safety is being held in the highest regard.'

'Being a jerk isn't going to help things, Derrig!' I added, placing everybody at ease.

'Derrig...' just hearing Bones say his name was like hearing someone add the word "but" onto the end of "your wife is going to live."

'Please tell us what's going on,' said the jerk.

'We're not sure we can, but there has been a very serious incident and we just need to know who was involved.'

'Then just ask us anything you need to know, so we can all leave this mess behind us.'

Something about Derrig's suggestion sounded like the worst idea I'd ever heard in my life. I decided to cover for my uncertainty by high-fiving Fitchman, but he fled the owlery before I had the chance. Derrig looked at me with an expression that I took to mean 'I wish I could be high-fived by you, McLaggen, but I know my hideous and personality-less hands are not deserving.' At least the boy was smart enough to know his place.

Bones put a hand up to stop me, presumably because she was being overcome with a desire to take me on a floor of feathers and droppings, and turned to Derrig.

'I'll be straight with you, Derrig. Creevey's been killed. At some point last night, he was beaten to death with a broomstick, and we're trying to find out who may have done it.'

Derrig looked shocked. Perhaps it was only now he realised how I was superior to him in every way, or perhaps he was grieving for a friend. Almost certainly the former.

'But...I don't...'

'I know Derrig,' said Bones, luring him into a false sense of security before I punch him. 'If you know anything, it could really help us.'

'STUPEFY!'

Yes, I got him! No wait, that wasn't me. No way my _stupefy_ would be that ugly and fat.

Blaise strode into the room, making the room feel less like an owlery and more like a git-ery.

'What the hell are you doing?' asked Bones, with more politeness than Blaise deserves. I rectified this by sending my stick flying at him, but it missed and flew downstairs. A yell of pain informed me I managed to hit my good friend Fitchman.

'Why hello there Bones, McLaggen. Just arresting a murderer, don't mind me,' said Blaise, not really caring just how much I minded. Or perhaps he did, and was just being a prick. Almost certainly the latter.

'Why do you think it was Derrig?' asked Bones, though frankly I can't see how that question has anything to do with the situation.

From a wide tunnel that leads to a disgusting abyss of failure came the words 'Undeniable evidence. Follow me if you want to see.'

And with that, Blaise waved his wand and hoisted up the motionless Derrig, directing him out the door.

'Wanna go see?' I asked Bones, maintaining my intense aura of professionalism.

'I suppose we'd better,' she replied, sulking off behind Blaise.

But I had a plan. A plan that would finally put to rest the whole reason I'd come to Hogwarts in the first place. And after sleeping with Bones, maybe I'd think up a plan to solve the muder investigation too. If I have time.

_This week's episode was sponsored by Cruci-O's Breakfast Cereal. Cruci-O's: The flavour is unforgivable!_

_Guests of the series choose to stay...away from McLaggen, as he keeps trying to touch them._


	11. Part 11: McLaggen of the Baskervilles

Part 11: The McLaggen of the Baskervilles

The dynamic duo, as well as the disgusting duo and the dangling Derrig dork, walked back into the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey was checking the charts for young Mr Flack, who would no doubt be extremely eager to continue our discussion from before just as soon as he got the time.

'Oh my, what's going on here?' asked Pomfrey. 'I was just increasing Flack's medication.'

'I've had Bones on two daily doses of McLaggen, but I think it's time I upped her prescription. And it's not the only thing being _upped_, if you know where I'm coming from.' I added, in a tone I considered appropriate for a murder scene. I also did a mime.

'Madam Pomfrey, I hate to come barging in like this,' uttered Blaise, in a tone completely inappropriate for a murder scene, but completely appropriate for being a talentless hack of a detective, 'But I have solved the murder case.'

I must at least give Pomfrey credit. No sooner had Blaise hideously spoken those words that she looked straight at the half-conscious boy he held suspended in the air. Her powers of deduction could almost rival mine. Although to be quite honest, if her powers went up against mine in a boxing match, mine would kick hers in the nuts.

'Derrig?'

'Yes Derrig, but allow me to explain,' began Blaise. I attempted to curse him before he could start a long winded and unattractive explanation, but Bones grabbed my wand. And not in the good way.

'Naturally I hadn't suspected Derrig initially, due to his perfect school record and from all reports a fondness for Mr Creevey, but he made several errors that lead me to cleverly deduce he was responsible.'

Deduce? That's _my_ word. Kind of. I was planning to start using it soon.

'Firstly, he was behaving quite suspiciously,' continued Blaise. 'Wandering around the school halls in the early hours of the morning is an odd choice of activity the day after a gruelling quidditch match. This lead me to rethink my strategy, and I headed back to the hospital ward, where I found this under Creevey's bed.'

Blaise reached into his revolting pocket with his personality-less hand, and pulled out a golden snitch.

'The very same snitch that Mr Derrig caught in yesterday's match. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he committed the act. It would have been all too easy for Derrig to sneak in, being a student held in the highest of esteem, to commit this act without anyone being suspicious of him walking the corridors at night.'

'That's all very well,' said Bones, 'But I don't know that it proves Derrig was the murderer.'

'I also noticed that the broom, used to murder poor Creevey, included the words _Property of Mortimer Derrig_ written on the handle. Forgot to mention that. Someone probably should have checked the murder weapon first.' Blaise's face displayed the kind of smugness I expected of a man who was an idiot and always got things wrong.

'Derrig I...can't believe it,' stammered Bones, her tongue obviously struggling to form words as it fought to sever itself from her mouth and lunge at McLaggen, 'You were always such a perfect student.'

Derrig didn't quite seem conscious enough to offer any sort of defence, so instead opted to look around in confusion and drool slightly. It was an interesting strategy, and one that I employed often, but perhaps now was not the time for it.

The disappointment was evident on Bones' face.

'I guess we'd better call the Headmistress. Perkins, do you know where her office is?'

Perkins, Blaise's assistant, nodded and trotted off. Blaise remained behind to fulfil his moron duties.

'Well then, that settles that. I'm so sorry about poor Mr Creevey, but at least his family can find solace knowing that the killer will be brought to justice.'

'Thank you, Mr Zabini,' said Pomfrey. 'Now I suppose I can return to taking care of students. I had to send several back to their dormitories still needing examination.'

'I wouldn't mind taking Bones back to the dormitories for some examination, if you get me,' someone, who I assumed to be me, added.

'My my, someone sure is sounding confident despite just completely failing the job he was hired to do,' some loser, who I assumed to be Blaise, said.

'Why yes, you do. But don't feel bad, Blaise, I knew a case like this would be a little beyond you.'

'I think you'll find I found all the evidence and solved the case. All you did was awkwardly try to get Bones into bed, and you failed at that too.'

'Au contraire, Blaise,' I said, not quite using all my knowledge of the French, 'I have succeeded on both accounts.'

I could tell by her uncomfortable moving beside me, that Bones was in total agreement. Her bedroom eyes, as well as every other bedroom-related part of her body, looked towards me in a mixture of confusion, amazement and a feeling I liked to call McLaggened.

'Pray tell then, McLaggen, just what exactly you did you do to assist in solving this murder?' asked Blaise, in a predictable showing of ignorance and body odour.

'Determined the true killer, while you were off being wrong and incorrect and impotent.'

'Oh yeah, and who, may I ask, would the real killer happen to be?'

My mind became awash with all the suspects I had dealt with since arriving at the castle.

There was Aspertame Flack, whose supposed deaf and blindness meant he spent several hours alone in the ward with Creevey. If he were faking, it was the perfect way to get away with a sneaky late night murder. And also a way to avoid end of term exams. I should know.

What about Fitchman Lament? Could my best friend be responsible for murder? Was he seeking revenge for the injury he suffered in the quidditch match? And was he remaining silent because he didn't want me to be disappointed in him?

Cecelia Blackwell was also a suspect. Hated that Creevey had been able to play such a fine game of quidditch, and was also directly connected to the crime via the book in the dungeons. Had she committed the murder simply to meet the dashing detective of her dreams?

Could it have been Mortimer Derrig? Yes, almost certainly. But Blaise had already accused him, and I didn't want to look like a copier.

It had not been lost on me how convenient this murder had been for Madam Pomfrey. The overcrowded hospital ward had suddenly been cleared out. And why restrict visitation, unless she needed to prevent potential witnesses from walking in mid-bludgeon.

But no, it was none of those people. There was one clear culprit, and it was time for them to be revealed.

My mouth prepared to spew forth a foul concoction. The type of phrase that animals flee from and plants would too if they could. Words that strike fear into the heart and colon of every man, woman and child on the planet, and also plants if they had such organs. The name that no lips wished to ever say...

'BLAISE ZABINI!'

I could tell by Bones' follow-up words of encouragement, that she was equally shocked and impressed by my incredible powers of reasoning.

'Idiot.'

_Will McLaggen be able to _alohomora _the truth, or has someone _engorgio_'d the lies? Can he enlighten his doubters without the help of _lumos_? Can he _reparo_ the damage done to Bones' faith in him? Will he _silencio_ Blaise once and for all? Can he _accio_ enough facts? Is his accusation simply _riddikulus_? And how come he hasn't used _erecto_ yet? Stay tuned for our exciting conclusion to learn the true fate of our hero, Cormac McLaggen. Same McLaggen time, same McLaggen channel._


	12. Part 12: The Day of the McLaggen

Part 12: The Day of the McLaggen

My accusation of Blaise had drawn mixed responses. Blaise raised an eyebrow, Pomfrey looked surprised, and Bones was evidently trying to hold herself up despite having gone incredibly weak at the knees by the sound of my velvet voice.

'What on earth are you talking about?' asked Bones. 'How could Blaise have committed the murder? And why would he want Creevey dead?'

'I'm glad you asked that question, Bones,' I replied, as my mind prepared to unravel the ball of twine that was this mystery. 'Blaise Zabini snuck into the castle late last night and struck Creevey with the broom. It was all quite simple for him after Perkins had already checked the coast was clear by coming up earlier in the day. Permit me to explain.

'Blaise and Perkins, the latter of whom was disguised as a student, used the floo network to enter the Slytherin common room several hours beforehand. Blaise had visited the castle many times in the past to help solve crimes, as Bones so helpfully informed me earlier. It would have been all too easy for him to sneak off to the Slytherin common room during one of these visits and interfere with the fireplace, hooking it up to his own. Perkins, realising he needed an excuse to go to the hospital ward, picked up a book from a nearby table - the library book that Blackwell had borrowed. Blaise and Perkins left the common room, and Perkins went off to check that the hospital ward would be suitably empty later that night. Upon returning, Blaise and Perkins realised they didn't actually know the password to get back into the common room, so they hid in the dungeons until the time was right. They merely tossed the book aside, figuring it would no longer be of use.

'In the dead of the night, Blaise snuck down to the quidditch pitch to collect a broom, knowing that to use his own wand to commit a murder would be foolish as the spell could be traced back. Instead, he decided to frame it as a quidditch-inspired killing. Finding not only the broom of the Gryffindor captain, but also the golden snitch, Blaise quickly decided who he wanted to set up. Derrig had, of course, rushed straight from the pitch to the hospital wing after the match to check on his many hurt teammates, and left all his quidditch gear behind. The only downside was that Derrig had a very indistinct type of broom, one shared by many other players, so Blaise quickly scrawled Derrig's name on the handle rather haphazardly. No quidditch player with any respectability, and I should know, would deface his own broom in such a way.

'Blaise committed the murder, threw the snitch under the bed, and left the broom at the scene of the crime. After I cunningly neglected to look around the hospital wing, or even look at the murder weapon, Blaise needed to plant the seed of doubt in my mind about the Gryffindor captain. Stopping Derrig on his way to the hospital, he told Derrig that Creevey had in fact been relocated to the fourth floor, knowing that Derrig would have to pass by us and I would consider it suspicious. Of course, there is nothing suspicious about a Gryffindor captain being fooled, because in my own personal experience Gryffindor quidditch captains are some of the dumbest people to ever walk the earth, and wouldn't know a quality keeper if he hit them in the face with a bludger. Several times with a bludger, in fact.

'Knowing that all evidence pointed to Blaise was one thing, but without any suitable motive I knew my accusation would not be taken seriously. It just so happened Mr Zabini provided me with that himself when I first encountered him at the castle. Unfortunately for the detective trade, mysterious killings have dried up recently and we're not quite in as high a demand anymore. So desperate was Blaise for paid work, he was going to ensure Hogwarts would forever need his watchful eye by attacking students whenever he so needed. The only flaw to the plan was this was the first mystery when he wasn't called upon. This was the first mystery that they finally called in an expert. And if it was Bones' duty to hire the detective, that begged one important question from the beginning – How did Blaise even know a murder had taken place?'

My explanation, that had taken what felt like an hour, had left mouths open throughout the room. It was Blaise who spoke first, looking as shocked as any of them.

'How on earth did you work out every single detail?'

'Wait...you mean that was right?' I asked with an air of both confidence and handsomeness. 'I was just making stuff up hoping you'd be sent to Azkaban.'

'And it was all I needed to hear,' spoke a new voice. Headmistress McGonagall strode into the room. Perkins, who had been walking beside her, now hid behind a nearby plant.

'Blaise Zabini, you will be escorted off the grounds and taken to the Ministry of Magic to await trial. I thank you for your service to this school, and hope we never have to work together again in the future.'

Blaise silently wandered out through the doors, followed by McGonagall and a walking plant.

'Don't feel bad, Blaise,' I called after him. 'You were beaten by the best.' This statement was highlighted by my wand firing off sparks accidently and setting fire to the bed of Aspertame Flack. It was nothing a little water and a friendly slap to the face couldn't fix.

Bones' mouth was still hanging open in a most welcoming way. I sauntered back over to her to accept her praise and proposal of marriage.

'McLaggan I...I don't believe it. You actually did it! You caught Blaise just as Derrig was about to be expelled and sent to prison. I...oh McLaggen, I love you.'

Bones' sudden hatred for me aside, I had most certainly lived up to my title of 'world's cheapest detective.' To say my brilliance made Albus Dumbledore look like a failing first-year was an understatement to say the least. Truly, on this day, I was the finest human being who ever existed.

'McLaggen, may I just say, I've been wrong about you all along,' began Bones. 'This whole time we've been working together, I'd started to think you were some incompetent, womanising, delusional man-child-'

'I don't know where you'd get an idea like that.'

'-but I now realise you're just a misunderstood genius. And I know it doesn't make up for my attitude, but I'd really like for us to get out of this castle and maybe grab a drink at the three broomsticks. And then maybe I can grab _another _kind of broomstick, if you know what I mean.'

'Thank you, Bones, but I'll have to decline. You see, now that my work here is done, I must return to the thankless life of a private eye. And no offence Bones, but you're really not my type.'

Once again Bones' mouth hung open, this time in adoration and understanding. I waltzed out of the castle, and back to a world that had a little adventure, a little danger, and a whole lot of pure unbridled McLaggen.

'But McLaggen!' Bones desperately called after me. 'Think about it. When we work together we can do anything. We could really be something great.'

'But Bones, don't you see? We _were _something great. We were McLaggen.'

* * *

><p>I sat in my office, watching the clock on the wall tick slowly over, and watching the termites eat through the floor. It was getting late, almost 3.30pm, and I was getting ready to call it a night, when a fine-looking dame came wandering through my door. Her legs were like two long industrial pipes leading into a sensual vat of toxic waste. Her long blonde locks reminded me of the long blonde padlocks I had to break through to get into this office in the first place. Her eyes, the portals to the soul, served her as portals to my pants.<p>

'I'm looking for the world's finest investigator, Blaise Zabini,' she spoke breathlessly. Oh yeah, she wanted a piece of McLaggen alright. But why cut her off one slice, when she could have the whole cake, and maybe have seconds if she still had room.

'Cormac McLaggen at your service, ma'am. And I think you'll find that anything Zabini can do, I can do faster.'

'Actually, I need a man who can help me find my missing husband. He went on a holiday to a mountainous region, and I haven't seen him in weeks.'

'I wouldn't mind seeing _your_ mountainous region, if you know what I mean,' I said with sincerity and understanding of the unfortunate situation.

I could tell by the mixture of horror and disgust on her face, that I had just secured my newest client. And this time, just maybe I'd solve the case on purpose.

THE END

_But Cormac McLaggen will return in..._

_From McLaggen With Love_


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